


Sated

by coreopsis



Series: southern night duology [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: First Time, M/M, a touch of internalized homophobia, southern heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-07
Updated: 2001-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:32:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3969455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coreopsis/pseuds/coreopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young man goes after what he wants. An alternate point of view of "Jaded".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sated

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in a zine called Silent Awakening in 2001. Some minor changes have been made in the editing process prior to this posting because I can never leave well enough alone.

Jeremy carefully stacks up a load of bricks and turns to go back for another. It's so hot that his eyelids feel dry and itchy. Maybe it's the dust, maybe it's the heat, maybe it's that glimpse of Drew he just caught. The older guy is bent over, reaching for a bag of mix or whatever--Jeremy couldn't care less what put him in that position just so that he holds it for awhile. He's curved in a way that makes his vertebrae stand out a little from the smooth lean muscles of his back. Jeremy'd like to lick those little knobs of bone, gnaw on them until Drew moans and begs for more. 

But then Drew probably wouldn't beg, would he? He might demand in that hoarse, seldom-used southern drawl, but he'd never make himself vulnerable. Jeremy's never met anyone so self-contained in his entire life, and it intrigues him as much as it frustrates him. It makes him hot too, but that's a separate issue. He can't help but think that if Drew were just a little friendlier, a little more outgoing, Jeremy could have had him already. 

Whether he would have wanted him is another question altogether. The mystery is part of Drew's charm--maybe the main part, along with his couldn't-possibly-give-a-shit attitude. Because of the heat, a lot of the guys stopped bringing their lunch and started going to a nearby cafe. So many times--through careful maneuvering--Jeremy has ended up next to Drew at the big communal table in the back of the dining room. This has given him the chance to observe his prey a little more close up. 

Drew's quiet, answers when spoken to, but has this intelligent gleam in his dark eyes that makes Jeremy think the guy's quickly sizing up and dismissing everyone around him. He doesn't appear to be friendly with anyone in particular, and speaks to everyone--from their boss to the waitress-- in exactly the same tone of voice, disinterested and polite. He never flirts with or checks out the waitresses either--like Jeremy doesn't. So, of course, Jeremy's thinking this is no coincidence. Even the married men check out the waitresses, out of form if not actual interest. 

Jeremy wants to ask Drew out--has been thinking about it all week. But how to do it? Can't make it sound like a date because that could get him in trouble. But that's what he'd consider it. 

He's so fucking cool, Jeremy thinks every time he sees Drew. He's got that young Brando thing going, without the classic handsomeness. He doesn't look like a movie star by any stretch--his features are too angular and just a little too strangely set together. He doesn't have the kind of face that would inspire people to trust him to save the world, but he'd make a good villain, maybe a psychotic computer genius or a homicidal drifter. 

For a moment, Jeremy's confidence falters and he wonders what Drew would possibly see in him if they did go out. If Drew likes guys at all, they're probably like him--lean, hungry-looking...dangerous. The kind of guy who'd ride a motorcycle and wear leather and have some really tough looking tattoos. Not like the all-American boy that Jeremy is and can only be, no matter how hard he might want to be something different. He'd given up long ago and just accepted that he was always going to look like the annoying kid brother of the coolest guy in school. 

So...what? What can he do? He can put his God-given innocence to perfect use for once. He can appeal to Drew's protective instincts--assuming the man has any, and for some reason Jeremy does. There's something in the almost gentle looks he gives people who seem to be down on their luck--like the old homeless man that kept coming around last week or the lady whose car broke down outside the cafe. He thinks that Drew's pay got docked for staying and helping her out when he was supposed to go back to work, but Drew never mentioned it or argued with the foreman or anything. He just showed up half an hour late with grease stains on his hands and forearms--sinewy, ropy forearms with those kinda bulgy veins that Jeremy likes so much.... 

He shakes his head to get rid of that thought before it does some damage and watches Drew take off his cap and wipe his forehead with his bandanna. He knows he should get back to work, but he's irresistibly drawn closer and closer until he's near enough to almost smell him... 

"Hey...uh, Drew." He's suddenly so nervous that he doesn't have to fake it. Being this close to Drew--practically in his personal space-- is setting off sparks inside his gut and he can barely concentrate on how he's asking him out for a beer and then Drew is telling him where he hangs out. There's an implicit invitation in there and Jeremy's determined to play it cool. He can get what he wants...he can finally get what the fuck he wants. The fuck he wants. 

But he can't scare Drew off by acting like a predator. He's gotta play the field mouse and let Drew come to him, take him wherever it is they end up going. 

It's gonna be so good. 

~~-~~ 

Jeremy steers his truck through Friday night traffic and figuratively shakes his head. He left small-town Middle America because he knew he was too damn different to survive there. Sure he could play football and drive a tractor, but no way was he going to settle down and be Farmer John married to Housewife Jane. Now if Farmer John could marry Farmer Jim, well... things would be different, wouldn't they? 

But that's not likely to happen, no more than cows are gonna sprout wings and fly. So he's here in bigger-town Middle America, staying with his Aunt Bess who's a just a little too senile to notice there's anything different about him. He's saving his money up to move to San Francisco or New Orleans or any place a little more queer-friendly. Not that Memphis is any more or less rabidly homophobic than Indiana was...it's just not a comfortable place for him. 

Comfort...he's willing to drive a million miles to find a little of that. He's never felt it before and he doesn't feel it now, pulling into the parking lot of the little bar and grill where he's to meet Drew. In fact, his stomach is in knots and he's wondering just what the hell he's doing here. He doesn't even know the guy, he just wants him. 

He doesn't see Drew's distinctive old Pontiac in the lot, but decides to go in anyway. Maybe a beer will settle his nerves. He walks in the door and his gaze is drawn directly to the man at a table over at the edge of the dining area. Since Drew hasn't noticed him yet, Jeremy takes a moment to just soak him in from a safe distance. The extremely short hair, the wiry thinness, and the shadows around the eyes remind Jeremy of ex-cons just out of the joint. There's something about Drew that's skittish and careless at the same time, and Jeremy's drawn to it like a cat to a bowl of cream. 

Cream...oh man, he's gotta stop thinking about licking up every last drop of Drew or he's gonna embarrass himself by popping wood right here. He takes a steadying breath and walks over to the table. 

"Hey." He waits for Drew to acknowledge his existence before sitting down across from him. The waitress shows up sooner than he expected, so he's flustered as he asks Drew what's good and orders the same. 

He wants to die with the embarrassment of being carded, can feel a flush spreading over his face and curses his stupid red-head's complexion. But he manages to prove that he's twenty-one--has been for a whole two months, thank you very much--and gets the alcohol he so desperately needs, only after an endless moment of making inane conversation about the stage over in the corner of the bar. 

Jeremy takes a couple of long sips of his beer and tries to get a grip. He comments on the country music playing on the jukebox, not out of interest but because if he doesn't he'll say something about how hot Drew looks. And the ambient temperature would have nothing to do with it. His white t-shirt clings to the muscles of his chest and his bottom lip is wet with a sheen that Jeremy's dying to taste. 

Drew's saying something about this place being close to his room and Jeremy gets a sudden picture of that by-the-hour-or-by-the-week motel that's just down the road. He can't possibly mean he lives *there* can he? But that explains why his car wasn't outside. Jeremy doesn't know why he's surprised--not like Drew's gonna have a condo in Germantown, is it? But he is, even though he tries to hide it and not piss Drew off before anything good happens. 

"Oh, that's...cool--to have your own place and all. I've been living with my aunt." It's embarrassing to admit but at least Drew doesn't have to meet the old bat and see that half the time she thinks Jeremy is either his brother Jason or her own brother Herman, who's been dead for ten years. "...ever since I came here from Indiana a month ago." 

"A month? You been here longer'n me, bubba." Drew's dark eyes twinkle--in anyone else that would be a smile, Jeremy thinks, knowing he's being too romantic but unable to stop. 

"No shit? For some reason, I thought you were from here--you know, before you said you weren't." And he did because Drew's got an accent that makes every word just drip out of his mouth like honey on a biscuit. Jeremy hasn't been south long enough to recognize different regional accents yet, so it's all one big slow drawl that either irritates the hell out of him or sets him on fire, depending on how big a hurry he's in. He asks Drew how he likes it and discusses the weather just to hear some more of his voice, but eventually the conversation dries up. 

Just as Jeremy's about to make another comment about the music just to have something to say, the waitress brings their food and disappears again just as quickly. Drew's dryly raised eyebrow makes him laugh and relax just a little. As they tuck into their supper, it seems that Drew relaxes a little bit too, although with him it's hard to tell. 

As Jeremy makes short work of his cheeseburger and fries, he watches Drew do the same with a single-mindedness that is sorta sexy. He can't help but wonder if Drew would make love with the same kind of purpose and intensity. Even the icy beer can't cool him off after that thought. His jeans suddenly feel just a fraction tighter and his hands are damp with sweat. 

The food is gone and his bottle's almost empty, and the pressure of silence becomes unbearable. He still doesn't have a handle on Drew's sexuality yet. Now Jeremy hasn't been around much, but he has developed a certain sense of people. Every time he thinks he's got Drew pegged, some subtle shift occurs and he loses his certainty. Desperation pushes him to the obvious and he asks if Drew has a girlfriend, couching it in uncertain certainty--"since you're here with me." Makes the whole evening sound a bit like a date, doesn't it? 

When Drew says no, Jeremy knows there's a reason. A guy like that--even antisocial as he sometimes seems--could have a girlfriend if he wanted. Half the single women in this place would go with him. The pull of his charisma in his self-contained confidence and the unconsciously graceful way he moves--like an old west gunfighter--is irresistible. It is to Jeremy anyway and he thinks he's not so different from most chicks in what he finds attractive. Although, the hint of danger in Drew that might scare off a woman just makes him hotter because he has a certain confidence in his own strength. 

In short, he could take him. The thing is...the thing here is that he doesn't want to take him. He wants Drew to do the taking and the only way for that to happen is for Jeremy to establish his weakness, his inexperience, his...innocence. And he is...sorta...in a strictly technical sense, if one doesn't count a few drunken furtive handjobs and one feverish kiss that almost got him punched in the face when the guy sobered up. 

A brief exchange about Jeremy not having a girlfriend either leads Drew to make the startling suggestion, "Why don't you go talk to those girls? Offer to buy one a drink." 

Jeremy lets his eyes go wide and feels another flush race over his face when he glances from the college girls at the jukebox and back to Drew. "Oh, I couldn't do that. I mean, there's two of them and all." And then he has the sickening thought: "Unless you want to..." 

"No, but you go ahead." Drew shakes his head and Jeremy almost sighs in relief. He was really not willing to go there and is mollified that Drew doesn't seem up for it either. He's also grateful when Drew orders them both another beer because he's got a feeling he's going to need it. 

After a few minutes of quiet drinking, Jeremy decides to take the offensive by making a confession to Drew, with just the right touch of embarrassment so that he can claim Drew misunderstood if things start to go bad. "I've never been good at talking to girls." 

"You? Naw, I don't believe it," says Drew and for a moment Jeremy thinks he's serious and tries to convince him. Then the penny drops and... 

"Very funny. You know what I mean." He stares hard at Drew, hoping to get his point across without having to come right out and say it. He swallows hard when it looks like Drew is getting it. He doesn't have to fake nervousness as he explains to Drew that he knows he should be interested in girls, because he knows that this could still go either way. Drew could be playing him along for whatever purpose and Jeremy might not see it in time to stop the damage. 

"I've never worried much about 'should'. Do whatever the fuck you want to and maybe that is what you should do." Drew makes it all sound so simple and maybe it is for him, but Jeremy has trouble believing it. 

"That's what you do?" Jeremy starts to wonder just how far that attitude extends and his morally conservative upbringing makes him protest just a little. "People can't just go around doing whatever they want to." 

"Why not? Who's stopping you?" Drew makes it sound so *simple* and Jeremy wants to believe it even as he continues to argue the point. 

"Everybody! I can't rob a bank just because I want to. The police would stop me. I can't just decide it's okay to not like girls." He tries to argue for normality, even though he knows it doesn't quite apply to him. 

"Normal?" Drew frowns as if the concept of conformity is foreign to him. "What the fuck is normal? If you don't like girls, then that's normal for you. Everything else is bullshit, boy, and don't let nobody tell you different." 

Jeremy wants to argue that too because there's just so much wrong with it, but Drew shoots him down and changes the subject slightly by asking what Jeremy expects from him. Drew says he's not Jeremy's friend with a piercing stare that seems to read every thought in Jeremy's head. 

That's a damn good point and Jeremy has to look away from the intensity of Drew's eyes. He's starting to wonder if this was all a mistake and his confidence--both in himself and in Drew--was misplaced. He tries to laugh it off, but it comes out bitter and he's not sure what to make of that. 

"You thought we were buddies." Drew's voice is full of understanding that irritates Jeremy by also sounding condescending. 

He strikes out at both of them by saying, "Now you think I'm queer and why would you want to be friends with _that_ , huh?" 

Drew looks more surprised than he ever has and protests that he doesn't care what Jeremy fucks, he still won't be his friend. 

Jeremy tries to convey that he understands without giving away the fact that he's not interested in friendship. He wants more and less and something much more complicated. Something that he can't possibly talk about here around all these people. Anyone could overhear their conversation, even though they both speak in low voices, and cause trouble. So he asks if they can leave. 

Once outside, he finally feels as if he's out from under a microscope, and he breathes a little easier. Drew starts walking down the road, and Jeremy follows a couple paces behind so that he can watch the way he moves, smooth and loose-limbed. There's something powerful in Drew's very casualness, and Jeremy wishes he could take him apart and see what makes him work. 

Drew stops in the shadows of an overhanging tree and lights a cigarette. The flare of his lighter in the darkness illuminates something unsettling in Drew's eyes and Jeremy wonders why he's not afraid. Because he's suspiciously fearless at the moment, ready to meet Drew as an equal. 

When Drew speaks, it's a continuation of their earlier conversation, but also seems to speak directly to what's in Jeremy's head at that moment. "You really don't want a friend like me, Jeremy. It'd just fuck you up. Trust me." 

"I don't trust you." Noticing the use of his actual name, Jeremy smiles and admits something that he probably shouldn't, "You don't want me to, and for some reason...that matters." 

"That's a bad idea," says Drew, but Jeremy both knows it and doesn't care. He wants to give Drew whatever he wants. It's only fair since he seems to want so much from Drew in return. 

"Why?" Jeremy looks at him steadily, pushing but unsure why. "If nothing ever matters, you'd be living in a vacuum." 

"Haven't you heard that in space, no one can hear you scream?" Jeremy wonders if this may be the skeleton key to Drew's psyche, but before he can really pick it apart, Drew continues speaking. "Trust me, don't trust me--I don't give a shit." And Jeremy has no trouble believing that at all. "Just don't make trouble at work." 

He reassures Drew that everything about this evening will stay between them because he'd be stupid to let any of it out. Their co-workers are not exactly the most broad-minded of men, in fact.... "Most of those guys hate fags." 

"And what makes you think I don't?" Drew asks, drawing on his cigarette as if completely unconcerned. 

"Gut instinct," Jeremy answers immediately. He's been thinking about it very carefully for at least a week, and has come to a rather odd conclusion. "You seem too smart for that selective shit. You either don't hate anyone or you hate everyone equally." 

"Innocent maybe, but not stupid," Drew drawls even slower than usual and looks Jeremy up and down like he's taking an instantaneous inventory of his body. "You're out of your depth. What would you do if I did this?" He thrusts his hand out and grabs the front of Jeremy's shirt, hauling him up against his body. Jeremy gasps at the shock and excitement as Drew tosses his cigarette away and their chests come into first contact. 

Jeremy feels another blush staining his cheeks and hopes that Drew can't see it, but hopes he can feel the rush of blood to his cock. He's getting hard against Drew's groin and his head reels from the bolt of lust he feels. It's all complicated somehow and he wonders if this is what falling in love feels like. Or maybe it's just what stepping off a cliff feels like. 

Drew's mouth is almost close enough to kiss, and Jeremy can taste the smoke and beer on his breath when he speaks in a rough voice that seems dragged from the depths of his soul. "Danger, Will Robinson. You're officially in alien territory. Go back to the safety of your ship before it's too late." 

But there's no way, no way on Earth or in outer space, that Jeremy could possibly do that. "I don't care. I don't wanna go back." And he moves closer, thinking the only way he could stop now is if Drew pushes him away...violently. 

"I don't want you." Drew doesn't bother to put much force behind that one, like maybe he can see Jeremy's past caring. "Why do you think I do?" 

"Because I can feel you." Jeremy points out the obvious, with a wry twist to his lips. "You're getting hard against me--unless you want me to believe that's your belt buckle." 

Drew asks what Jeremy expects from him and it's such a broad question that Jeremy is almost overwhelmed by the possibilities. His voice is embarrassingly shaky when he finally sums it all up, "Hell, I don't know, but I want it." 

"You have no idea." Drew shakes his head and releases Jeremy's shirt, and he's worried for a moment that Drew's going to turn him down, but something else happens. Drew turns Jeremy around and pushes him hard toward the motel down the road. 

Yeah, he's gonna do it. They are gonna do it and Jeremy giddily thinks that if he's just stepped off a cliff, at least he hit an updraft. 

 

~~-~~ 

The room is hot, cramped, and decorated in the ugliest shades of teal and olive green known to man. The tiny closet has no door so Jeremy can see the cardboard boxes that must constitute Drew's luggage carefully stacked one inside the other so that they'd fit onto the small area of floor. He wonders how can anyone possibly live here full time, until the slam of the door behind him jerks him out of his reverie. He turns and is met by a satisfied look on Drew's face, like Jeremy's doing something right even though he hasn't done anything yet. That certainly bodes well, doesn't it? 

Drew flips a switch that turns on the bedside light before he pulls his t-shirt off. Even though Jeremy sees him shirtless at work every day, this is different. It's all about intent and what happens next and oh fuck, does he want it. He wants it now and is not afraid to show it by practically ripping his own shirt off--thankful that he chose one with snaps instead of buttons. Even having no specific idea of what Drew might want to do to him, he's eager and ready to give it a try. 

But the predatory way Drew moves closer gives him pause, before he's shoved facedown onto the bed. He figures out that he's being tested as Drew reaches under him and awkwardly undoes his jeans. He can put up with the discomfort, but the smoky-dusty smell of the bedspread is about to choke him and he has to protest. "Uhh, Drew...I can't breathe like this." 

The hand moves off the middle of Jeremy's back and he can lift his head and upper chest enough to take a deep breath. "That's better. Thanks." 

Drew helps him turn over and says, "Right answer, bubba." But Jeremy can only guess at what the question was. 

He reaches for the front of Drew's jeans, and he knows he's a little too rough and hurried, but he can't slow down until he gets to the hard cock underneath and Drew returns the favor, only he does it with more control. Some almost forgotten honesty compels him, before this gets too far, to say, "I umm...I've never been fucked by a guy before." He doesn't bother to point out that the flipside is also true because he can't possibly conceive of Drew letting him. 

Drew surprises a gasp out of him by saying, "And you're not gonna be now," then working his hand inside Jeremy's fly to grasp his throbbing cock. The strength in Drew's hand excites him with possibilities, but the hold remains gentle. It's all he can do not to thrust his hips up and fuck Drew's fist for all he's worth. He briefly imagines reversing their positions and getting his hands on Drew's body. Touching him freely and lovingly all over instead of the tentative hold he's got on his shoulders now. 

Drew works his dick like a musical instrument that he has a particular talent for, and all Jeremy can do is ride it out and mumble, "Oh-oh-good-that's-so-good..." 

When Drew starts rubbing the spot right behind his balls, Jeremy makes a metal note of it for the next time he's jerking off. Otherwise he just bucks his hips a little and tries to keep his hands from sliding off Drew's sweat-slippery shoulders. Drew's whole body is taut and vibrating, and when he lowers his mouth to blow a moist breath over the wet head of Jeremy's cock, he almost shouts from the subtlety of the stimulation on his sensitized skin. 

Moving up a little so that he can lie on the bed beside Jeremy, Drew puts his mouth next to his ear and warns, "Walls like paper. Don't make me shut you up." 

Between the teeth nibbling his earlobe and the rough callused hand on his erection, all Jeremy can say is "Sorry. Just don't stop. Please." 

 

When Drew says, "Always polite," it sounds almost like an insult, but Jeremy doesn't have time to think about it because Drew takes his mouth then. It's not even kissing as far as Jeremy understands the word. It's devouring and claiming and out of control lust and he eats it up--both literally and figuratively. He never wants Drew to stop and he tries to hold back, but the pressure builds and builds until he comes, his shout muffled by Drew's teeth clamped on his bottom lip. 

Drew draws back and rubs his wet hand across Jeremy's stomach, smearing come and sweat together in a slick-sticky mess, and Jeremy's so fucking glad it was Drew. Fiercely and intensely happy that Drew could do this to him. 

And he wants to return the favor. He wants to be as special to Drew as Drew has become to him. Jeremy struggles to a sitting position and looks down at the erection sticking out of Drew's open jeans. 

With shaking fingers he pulls Drew's underwear down, releasing his cock into his hand. He looks up into Drew's eyes, but gets no verbal response. Drew just lies back and offers himself. Jeremy looks from Drew's dark eyes back to the throbbing cock in his hand, trying to build up courage to do what he really wants. He's got no experience to draw on, only an active fantasy life, and he doesn't want to mess it up. 

Jeremy licks his chewed-up lips nervously and lowers his head. A few inches from the head of Drew's cock, he has a momentary attack of doubt--what if Drew doesn't even want this? He stops and looks up into Drew's face again, asking, "Can I?" 

"You fucking better." Drew's emphatic, but Jeremy's still worried. 

"I don't know..." He doesn't want to stop, but what if he's so terrible at it that Drew never wants to see him again? 

Drew stares him down and grabs his hair. He twines his fingers through the strands and tugs Jeremy's head down, reassuring him in a soft voice, "Just do it. It's okay." 

And Jeremy's swamped with...sweetness. He knew that Drew would be a considerate lover--okay, he didn't _know_ that, but he kinda felt it instinctively. And he wants to be considerate in return so he makes sure his teeth are covered as he takes Drew's cock into his mouth. He doesn't try to take too much too quickly, just sucks on those first couple inches or so--gently at first, getting used to it and then harder as Drew twitches and grunts little sighs of approval. The cock seems to swell impossibly bigger in his mouth and then a burst of come coats his throat in bitterness, and he tries to swallow it down like a pro but he chokes. He has to pull away and cough for a few seconds before he can clear his throat and smile at Drew. 

It's demented and wonderful and traumatic and he's kinda scared, but he has to wonder, "Am I crazy to want this so much? To think about it all the time?" He flicks his tongue along the inside of his lips, and has to suppress a shudder. "Liking the taste of cock and come."

Drew raises a hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead and it's one of the most graceful moves that Jeremy's ever seen. Drew reassures him again that he's normal. It's the perfect thing for Drew to say and Jeremy has to say something to show how grateful and happy he is. 

"You're a great guy, Drew." Jeremy's so glad he got the words out without stumbling over them or his voice cracking, that he's not too mortified when Drew responds in a flat, unamused voice. 

"Don't be a girl, bubba. It'll only get you hurt. I'm still not your friend." Jeremy watches Drew sit up and put himself back in his jeans, so he does the same, wishing that it didn't have to end so soon. 

Drew doesn't have to be his friend to be his lover, so Jeremy bravely asks, "Will you...umm, maybe teach me some...other things?" 

Drew shakes his head, but he does say, "Maybe." 

Jeremy counts that as a victory and presses on. "Then can I see you tomorrow?" 

"No, I'm busy." Drew stretches his lanky body out to its full height and hands Jeremy his shirt. His eyes seem to be laughing a little as he says, "Now get going. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here." 

"I'll see you at work on Monday then." Jeremy tries to sound casual, when he feels anything but. He wants Drew again and can't imagine having to wait for very long. "Or I could call you on Sunday?" 

"Bye, Jeremy." Drew pushes him toward the door, but his hands are gentle, almost caressing his back. 

"Good night, Drew." And then just before the door swings shut in his face, "Thanks for everything." 

He walks back down the road to where his truck is parked looking forward to the next time he can be with Drew. And there will be a next time, he's certain of that. He made love to Drew and that has to count for something, right? 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Although these stories feel incredibly dated now, I still rather like how they turned out, which is a fairly rare feeling for me.


End file.
